A Permanent Destination
by T Stark
Summary: No one ever asks about the villain. No one really cares. He murdered people, his fate was well deserved. But he had a life. He had a childhood. He had a family, people he cared about, people who cared for him. It all just went a bit wrong in the end. This is the story of the Consulting Criminal. This is the story of Jim Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1: Daddy's Had Enough Now

**TRIGGER WARNING! Okay, so this is Sherlock-based, so there's going to be murder, obviously. But also some child abuse in this chapter, so heads up.**

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All things considered, he was doomed from the start.

The postpartum depression had taken Lillian hostage about two weeks after giving birth, and had not subsided as the years went on. But her hopelessness carefully had morphed into something different. Something much more frightening.

Her husband knew this. He knew it all too well. Pulling into the driveway of the modest Irish home, after a long Saturday at work, he dreaded to see what damage had been done while he was gone.

"Papa!" As the door of the car slammed shut, Daniel Moriarty heard the voice call out to him.

He grinned, picking up his son. "Hey, Jimmy!" The boy laughed, clearly enjoying himself. He wasn't off hiding in the closet, so Daniel knew for a fact that everything at home had gone rather smoothly today. "You miss me?"

Jim nodded furiously, throwing his arms around his father's neck. "I drawed a picture! It had birds, and trees, and a lake, and a bunch of other stuff!"

"'Had'?" Oh, that wasn't a good sign.

The five-year-old nodded sadly. "Mummy got mad at me and ripped it." He looked up. "I was gonna give it to you."

So that was it. Looking Jim over intently, Daniel silently noted that there were no new bruises or cuts, and the boy didn't show any signs of pain when he had been picked up. "I'll talk to Mummy." He assured. "And while I do that, why don't you draw me another one, yeah?" Jim's face lit up as he agreed, small arms still clinging as he was carried inside.

In the past five years, it had become Daniel's job to do the cooking, beginning back when Jim was still an infant and it was the only way of assuring anyone would eat. Some days offered less gourmet dishes than others. This was one of them. The boy took his two sandwiches- he hadn't eaten lunch- into his room, back to his paper and crayons.

His bedroom was decently sized, and, at first glance, that of a normal child. Perhaps more books than most, but other than that, completely ordinary. But upon inspection, one could see signs of what had really happened there. A cracked window where a baseball had been thrown, an uneven spot on the wall, where it had had to be patched up. There were probably some traces of blood left on the doorknob from where a small head had impacted it, as well, but no one had ever bothered to check.

Jim began colouring- honestly not bad quality for his age- before thinking for a moment. His mother always got angry when he used his left hand, so he switched the crayon into his right. Maybe if he learned how to do that, she would finally be happy with him.

Lillian was laying on her bed when Daniel entered, as usual. "Jim said you were upset today." He put a cup of tea on the side table.

"Did he, now?" She sat up, dark hair a mess and falling over her thin shoulders. Her tone was venomous, almost disgusted. "The lying little shit."

That set him over the edge. "That's enough, Lillian! This is our son you're talking about!" He was not yelling, just speaking in a harsh manner. "I'm sick of hearing about his ripped up drawings, acting like I don't see the marks on him! I can't take it! And after what happened to..." Daniel trailed off before he stormed out of the room, Lillian right on his heels.

"Did you ever think that maybe he deserves it?"

"No!" His fury was in full now. "What could he possibly do to deserve that?! He makes the smallest mistake and you act like he's just killed someone! I'm not going to stand here and pretend anymore!"

There was only a short moment of silence. "Jim!" Lillian called, poison in her voice. He came down the stairs timidly. "Oh, hurry up." Grabbing a fistfull of his hair, she was rough dragging him into the room. She then took a grip on the tiny arm, strong for such a petite woman, bending it in a way which caused the boy to cry out in pain as he waited to hear a snap.

It was only when his mother was forcefully pulled away that he felt relief. Physical relief, yes, but in his mind, he was panicking. He ended up cowering in a corner.

Daniel was restraining her fairly well, despite her struggle. "Don't you dare touch my son!" This came in a growl as he did everything he could to keep her as far away from the child as possible. All other methods rendered useless, she resorted to sinking her teeth into his arm, and his grip loosened.

Now having the advantage, she pinned Daniel to the wall. Jim could see that this was getting out of hand. He tried sneaking out the door, to get help, but Lillian caught sight of him before he had the chance. "You don't move from that spot, do you hear me?!" She ordered, he obeyed, despite Daniel yelling for him to run. Her focus now turned back to the man in front of her. "You're not going to stand here and pretend anymore?" Her voice was frighteningly calm. "I can help you with that." One hand reached over to the counter, gripping the wooden handle of a knife. "Jim, baby, I want you to watch this, alright? See, Papa's hurt my feelings. But I forgive him. Now, I'm going to help him."

A child's innocence was shattered as he watched the blade pierce flesh, screaming for his father as he collapsed to the floor.

After retrieving the knife, she allowed it to clatter to the floor, which would now forever be stained with blood. His mother- No. No, this woman in front of him, drenched in the blood of his father, was not her. This woman, this monster, came closer to him. He did not back away, as he was paralysed in fear. "You're going to keep your mouth shut about this. Or you'll regret it. If you tell anyone, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you." Her snarl was cut off by the sound of sirens, which had been summoned by an attentive neighbor.

With one parent dead and the other imprisoned, it was decided that Jim would be relocated to live with his father's sister in Brighton. She and her husband had a son about a year older, whom he looked astonishingly similar to. While Richard was asleep in his room- Not really. All he knew was that his cousin Jim was coming to live with them, and he was excited- Grace and James Brook greeted him with tearful embraces. He didn't return them. There were too many images flashing through his mind.


	2. Chapter 2: Are You Ready For The Story?

Even eight years after the murder, Jim would still awaken in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He and Richard shared a room, and for the first month or so, he had woken up the entire house screaming nearly every night. But no one became cross with him. Instead, his Aunt Grace would do her best to console him, and they would cry together. Now, he'd learned to control his reactions, the most sound coming from him being a gasp.

To say that living here in Brighton was better would be an incredible understatement. When at home, he did not have to fear being thrown into walls, hit, or humiliated. At first, he'd instinctively flinched whenever anyone made even the slightest sudden movements around him, but he'd soon learned that things would be okay here. That he was safe.

The same could not be said when he was at school. His grades were decent, but despite not greatly excelling in the classroom, he was gifted in many other aspects. For example, he'd continued to pursue his interest in art- though instead of crayons, he'd grown into pencils- and even had taken up dancing. Not the kind of dancing that was so popular at the time. He preferred classical. Ballet. And he was clever. He could pick apart what a person was thinking with ease, determine and influence their next move. A few times, he used his abilities to his advantage, but he prefered to keep them to himself.

He was on his way to his Physics class when it happened. Not that he wasn't expecting it. He'd learned to. It happened every day. He felt his body pushed into the lockers, shoulder slamming into the metal. That would be bruised by tomorrow, no doubt. "Hey, Moriarty." Even his voice was smirking. "What the hell was that in History this morning?" Jim looked up at the boy, who was slightly taller despite being two years younger. Carl Powers had that look in his eyes. That look that said that Jim wasn't going to have a good day. "You think you can just go around acting like you're so smart all the time? Like you know more than everyone else?"

"I didn't-"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Jim fell silent, and his head impacted the locker again.

It could very well have gotten a lot worse had a new voice not intervened. "Powers!" Carl's head whipped around. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" He left without another word as Richard came forth. "You alright?"

Jim nodded ever so slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked over his cousin for a moment. "Though I wouldn't be opposed if something unfortunate happened to him during your swim meet tonight."

"You don't mean that." Richard smiled, despite honestly being a bit worried. As he grew older, he'd learned why Jim had come to live with them, what he had seen. But there was an unspoken rule between them never to bring it up. Somewhere, buried inside him, he feared that his gruesome past would have a disastrous effect on his mind.

Jim grinned a bit. Of course he didn't. There were times he thought about it, but he always pushed the idea away. Then spent hours on end wondering if he was a bad person for allowing it to cross his mind. "Well, obviously. I'm not some sort of freak." He paused for a moment. "Don't respond to that."

"Please, you're not a freak." He insisted. But Jim wasn't having that.

"Then why can't anyone see things the way I do? You've said so yourself. Remember that time you brought that girl over and I said she was planning to make a make a move on you?" He smirked at the memory. "Remind me again, what did she do about an hour afterwards? Throw you onto the bed and try to rip your shirt off?"

Richard elbowed him- though he made sure to do so very softly. "Shut up. That doesn't make you a freak. You're just clever. All the others, Carl and his gang, you intimidate them. They know what you can do. That you could ruin them whenever you choose. And it terrifies them."

If Richard's words were an attempt to be encouraging, it had been a miserable failure. Jim didn't want to be clever. All that had ever gotten him was pain, both physical and emotional. And most of all, he didn't want people to be frightened. He wanted a normal life, with normal friends, and normal problems. He wanted people to look at him and see a boy whom they would respect, see as an equal. But he wouldn't let Richard know this. He wanted to ensure his cousin's peace of mind. "You're right." He faked a smile, sure that Richard would be unable to tell the difference. "Thanks."

A friendly hand on his shoulder now. "You're late to class."

"Well, so are you. Or are you blackmailing someone into taking your spot?"

"That was one time." He admitted. "And no, I'm supposed to be picking up some books from the supply closet."

Jim gave a teasing look. "They trust you in a small dark room alone?"

Another gentle elbowing. "Shut up!" Richard's grin was wide now. "Go to class. I'll see you later."

"Right. See you." Just as he began to depart, he turned around, speaking one more time. "Richard? You won't... you won't tell your mum about this, right?" Grace always worried about him, almost too much. He hated to see her upset, especially when he was the cause.

Richard nodded. "Yeah, of course." Jim smiled a bit, and continued on his way.

When he finally got to his Physics class, Jim produced the counterfeit hall pass from his bag. He had a few on hand at all times, just in case. No one ever really examined them. They were just discarded.

As the lecture droned on, Jim found himself doodling in his notebook. They were never anything extraordinary. Just simple shapes and designs. But they were very intricate. Sort of like him. Simple at first glance, yet so full of ideas if someone were to bother paying attention.


	3. Chapter 3: I Thought You Might Call

He had no idea how much his life would be impacted by the events which took place that day.

It had begun so ordinary, Jim on his way to his first class when he got a hard slap in the back of the head by a member of Carl's group of followers. That's what Jim called them. He had no idea what he'd done to make this boy angry. He wasn't even sure he'd ever seen him before. But that didn't keep him from pinning him against the wall and preparing to give Jim a swift punch in the jaw.

His savior was nearby, interjection coming from an unlikely source. With his eyes closed, tensing up in order to get ready for the impact, he didn't see who pulled the other boy away. He only heard a voice. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out of here." Then to Jim. "Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes, caught sight of the girl in front of him. Dark blonde hair cut in a short bob, eyes full of pity. "Yeah, I'm fine." His reply was blunt, though not unkind. Then a bit more light. "He was probably a bit relieved you came along, honestly. I think I was beginning to intimidate him." His smile was very small, just large enough to indicate that he was joking.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Because Samuel is so easily frightened." She laughed ever so slightly, those bright blue eyes meeting his.

The smile growing a bit more as he saw that she was actually speaking to him of her own free will, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm Jim. Jim Moriarty."

Offering a handshake, which he accepted, she happily replied. "Danielle Jacques. But call me Penny."

"Penny?" He raised an eyebrow. Where did that come from? Seemed a bit random.

She nodded. "It's my middle name. I just like it better."

So did he. Danielle sounded too much like Daniel. It brought back too many unwanted recollections. Too many images of a face he barely remembered, except when it was still and drained of life. "I see. Well, Penny, it's nice to meet you." His voice came out smoothly, almost majestic.

Pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, Jim watched as she scribbled something down. "Here's my number. If you ever get into trouble again, let me know." She left without another word.

Had he just gotten a girl's phone number? That was a first. He never thought he would. Folding up the paper, he shoved it into his bag. He was late to class, but honestly, he didn't care.

"Moriarty!" Almost immediately after Jim exited his classroom, Carl had him gripped by the collar of his shirt. "The hell are you trying to pull?"

Struggling to break free, Jim's efforts at prying open Carl's fingers open were useless. "Wh- what are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you're stupid!" People were beginning to look now, though no one dared keep their gaze there for more than a moment. "Stay away from my girlfriend, you understand?"

It took him a moment to realise what Carl meant. "Your-" Oh. Yes, of course. He must have been talking about Penny. They were dating? Well, that was ironic. "We just talked for a few minutes! Nothing happened!" He continued struggling.

A poisonous glare. "Yeah? Well, you're going to make sure nothing does happen. If you so much as look in her general direction, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." He all but threw Jim away before heading off to who-knows-where.

After regaining his balance, Jim ran his fingers through his hair. He'd gotten lucky. This could have gone a lot less smoothly. But in a way, Jim was almost proud of himself. Carl didn't want him to talk to his girlfriend. He felt threatened. He was afraid that Jim could take her away from him. Of course, he wouldn't, but the idea that the thought would even cross Carl's mind was almost reassuring. It proved that he was worth something. That he might not have been a complete failure.

Reaching into his bag, he felt the need to make sure the paper was still there, intact, with the digits still clearly legible. Jim smiled. He would call her that night.

It was about halfway through the day when Jim was called out of his art class. Of all classes, it had to be that one. The only one he actually enjoyed.

Upon entering the Headmaster's office, the first thing he noticed was that his Aunt and Uncle were there. The next was that she was crying.

Something was very wrong.

He took a seat only after being told to, eyes scanning, trying to read the Headmaster's face, trying to figure out what was going on. Being in that position, so unaware of what was happening around him, it was frustrating.

Anxiety. Fear. That's what he was picking up. But why? "Jim," The headmaster hesitated, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. "Your mother got out of prison today."

_Your mother got out of prison today._

Jim felt his heart quicken its pace, eyes widen, body tremble ever so slightly.

_Your mother got out of prison today._

He had to have heard incorrectly. There was no way. That was impossible. But here he was, those words hanging in the air.

_Your mother got out of prison today._

Voice weak, Jim was able to mutter a single word. "Why?"

"Good behaviour."

"That's bullshit!" Jim snapped, flying to his feet. "She didn't have good behaviour when she threw me down the stairs because I knocked over a lamp! She didn't have good behaviour when she made me watch her murder my father!" His shouts then ceased as Grace threw her arms around him. He was now just short of sobbing as he repeated four words over and over again. "She's gonna kill me. She's gonna kill me..."

He forgot to call Penny.


	4. Chapter 4: On The Side Of The Angels

"Jim! Jim, wake up!" Eyes flying open, he saw Richard standing above his bed, clearly worried. "You were screaming."

Jim looked around the darkened room. His heart was still pounding in his chest. It was just a dream. That was it. She wasn't there. "Sorry." Throat sore from the unconscious outbursts, his voice was rough.

Sitting on the bed now, Richard flicked on the lamp. "It's your mum, isn't it?" Jim could only nod. "Figured. Listen, I know you're upset, I get that. But I think you're overreacting a bit."

"Overreacting?" He raised an eyebrow. "That woman tried to kill me every day for the first five years of my life, murdered my father, and now she's walking around like no one's business. If she ever were to find me-"

"Stop." Richard shook his head. "Just stop. Nothing's going to happen to you. She probably doesn't even know where you are. And if she does, she probably doesn't care. Oh, sorry, I didn't mean that how it sounded. But you get my point, right?" Jim nodded. "Good. Now get some sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow, you little ladies' man."

After a mumble of a defensive "Shut up", Jim laid his head down, waiting until Richard was asleep before sitting up in bed. He didn't want to take any chances, to see the horrifying images which filled his dreams as vividly as when he was a child. The struggle, the blood-spattered face of the woman looking down at him. He was terrified. Completely and utterly terrified. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he hung his head, stifling sobs as best he could.

"So then you just shade that part in, and once you blend it, it should look like it's 3D."

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Then just a little highlight right there. Like that, yeah. Now you're done."

Penny's eyes scanned the drawing Jim had walked her through. It wasn't particularly bad. In fact, she was rather skilled, especially considering this was her first time. It was a basic sketch of an apple, lights and darks added just short of expertly. "Not nearly as good as yours." Jim laughed a bit and waved it off. And Penny's tone became more concerned. "Jim, I... I'm not an idiot, you know. Something's wrong. I can tell. I mean, I don't expect you to want to tell me anything, but if you ever do..." She trailed off, silently wondering if she should have said anything.

There was a hesitation. Why was she asking? Did she just want a new rumour to tell Carl? After all, he was already screwed, having invited Penny to his house. But she seemed upset. Worried. About him. He gave in. "My mum was abusive toward me growing up. I was five years old, I didn't know it was wrong, that that isn't how things are supposed to go. I guess I realised when she..." He had to compose himself. "She and my father got into an argument. Usually he just let her win, just to avoid her getting angry. But one day he'd had enough, and she... she killed him. She made me watch. Knife through the heart. Perfect aim, it was spot-on. He died protecting me. And now she's out of prison. Probably looking for me."

There was silence, the only thing shattering it being the quiet sound of Penny's voice. "You blame yourself." It came in barely a whisper. "You think it's your fault that he died because he was trying to protect you. And you're scared. You're so, so scared." As she threw her arms around his neck, Jim came to realise. He'd thought her ordinary. He'd believed she was a normal girl. But she wasn't. She saw through everything he'd tried so hard to hide. When in her presence, he had as many secrets as an open book. After a moment or two, Penny must have noticed that he had not replied, that he was shocked. She pulled away, eye contact now nonexistent. "I'm sorry. I didn't- I'm usually good at not doing that." She bit her lip.

Jim was almost mesmerised. "You see things differently than other people. Notice things no one else can. If you wanted to, you could manipulate people to do whatever you want. Because you know how they think. You know what nerves to hit when, how to make your target so desperate that they'll do anything you want. But you don't. You don't want to frighten people away." Penny's eyes moved back up, and they both held each other's gaze. "You're just like me." This came as a whisper, barely believing what was coming out of his mouth.

"You mean you...?" Jim simply nodded. She carefully- ever so carefully- took his hand in hers. "It's going to be okay. I'm here. Your mum can go to Hell for what she did to you, and if I ever were to get the chance, I'd be the one to send her there." She gave a comforting smile. "It'll be okay, Jim."

It was two hours later when Jim sat reading. Penny had fallen asleep on his bed. Setting the book down on his side table, he knew that what he did next was completely wrong, overstepping his boundaries. Sitting next to her, he took a risk. A risk he never should have taken. He leaned over. And lightly rested his lips upon her forehead.

She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And in sleep, her face was calm, peaceful. Almost otherworldly. Breaths even and rhythmic, he himself began to feel at ease, as well. Everything was perfect. _She_ was perfect. She understood him, she could see what he could. When he was with her, he felt safe. Accepted. Like he wasn't alone. Because he wasn't. With her, he was worth something. He was a normal thirteen-year-old. The one thing he never thought he would be able to become.

It was worth the beating he got from Carl the following day. Worth every second of it.


	5. Chapter 5: I've Given You A Glimpse

He would never be the same after that day.

Grace often played classical music, but today,_ La Gazza Ladra_ rang out through the house at an unusually early hour. The sun wasn't even up yet. Jim looked over to Richard, only to find that his cousin was not in his bed.

Rubbing his eyes, he began shuffling down the hall to ask what the hell was going on. Richard always slept soundly through the night, getting up around noon on weekends. So why was everyone up now?

It was too dark to see without turning on the light, but upon doing so, what he saw would forever be burned into his mind.

His Aunt Grace, his Uncle James, his cousin Richard. Tied to kitchen chairs, expressions desperate and terrified. And the blood. All the blood, soaking into the carpet from the knife wounds. He found himself trembling at the sight of their eyes. Unmoving. Glassy.

It was as if it were happening all over again. Frozen in place, too full of horror to even think about moving. This couldn't be happening. He had to be dreaming. Yes, that was it. It was a dream. Nothing more. But then, if it was a dream, why did it hurt as his fingernails dug into his palms?

"Oh, look at you." No. Please, please, no. "You're almost all grown up." The woman he'd never wanted to lay eyes on again came out from around the corner. And just like the last time they'd met, she was drenched in blood. "Jim, baby. It's taken me awhile to find you. I'm so sorry I'm late." She slowly made her way over to him, and caressed his face, smearing the warm crimson fluid on his cheek.

No. She couldn't be here. She couldn't be here, leaving that trail of blood on the pale surface of his flesh. But her distinct smell, mixed with that of the thick fluid, was so very real.

Lillian's voice was frighteningly calm, nearly to an inhuman extent. "They took you away from me. Do you know how lonely I've been, Jim?" He didn't answer, as he was still too overtaken with the horror of the situation. And she didn't approve. "Why don't you say something!" Her tone changed without warning, taking a fist full of his hair and throwing him to the ground. Then, softly again, kneeling down so that they were face to face. "I was so lonely, Jim. Without you, or your papa, or your brother."

"What the hell are you talking about, my brother?" His attempt to form this as a demand for information failed as his voice trembled.

"You don't remember." Her head tilted to the side ever so slightly. "Well, you were very young, after all. Keith, your baby brother, only about a year younger than you. He was only a year old. Such a shame. Some furniture can be so unreliable."

His father, his aunt, his uncle, his cousin, and now his brother. His brother. He had a brother. She killed his infant brother. The death toll rising once again. She'd killed five people. Five innocent people dead by her hand. How many more?

He was about to get his answer.

Lillian placed her hands on his arms. "They took you away from me, Jim. They were keeping you here. I had to stop them. But there's one more, isn't there? One more person that you love more that Mummy." She stood and exited the room. When she returned, Jim practically felt his heart stop.

The chair was dragged in, and with it, an unbelievably terrified Penny. Bound, gagged and panicking, but very much alive. His eyes met hers, and he could see her silently begging, praying for him to save her. But it was clear that she knew. She knew that he was powerless.

"I've been watching you. She's been keeping you away from me. You're my son, Jim, I know you. To think after all this time, you'd finally fall in love." Her words hit him hard. He almost didn't notice her pick up the knife. "Time to say goodbye now, Jimmy."

He wasn't just going to sit there, relive the whole thing again. Eight years ago, he'd stood there and screamed. But today, today he wasn't going to let it happen. As Lillian knelt before the girl, as she raised the knife, Jim grabbed her arm, just as it was coming down.

It was too late.

The blade penetrated not her chest, but just under her ribs. For a moment, Jim could do nothing but stare in horror. But he couldn't pause for long. Lillian took him by the throat, holding him against the wall. "You little bastard." She hissed. "I'll kill you, I swear. Remember what I said all that time ago? 'I will burn the heart out of you.' It's time. I-" Being so focused on her words, on her threats, she hadn't noticed him retrieve the knife. She only realised as she felt him push the blade into her.

He was sure that it was quick. That she did not suffer. As much she probably deserved otherwise, he made the kill as quick and clean as he could. After a few seconds of taking in what he'd done, he heard the ragged breathing behind him.

Untying Penny, he removed the gag from her mouth, pulling her in close. "You just killed your own mum." Her voice was soft. Rough. "That takes guts, kid." Even now, she managed that sweet smile of hers.

"Penny, listen to me." Jim whispered, not bothering to hide the fact that his cheeks were rapidly dampening. "It going to be alright, you hear me? I- I'm going to call for help. You're-"

She put a shaking finger against his lips, shushing him before he could finish. "Just hold me."

Jim did as she wished, keeping her close. "Penny..." He took her hand. "You're going to be okay, you understand? Please, you can't leave me, you're all I have left!" But again, she told him to stop.

"I'm going home now, Jim. And I'll see you again, someday. Just promise me you won't let it be too soon, yeah?" She was fading fast, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Please, stay until I'm sleeping. And I... I need to tell you. Something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time." Penny's hand moved up to his face, resting her free hand on his cheek. "Jim Moriarty, I..."

Her hand fell.

And her eyes closed.

And before long, a phone call came through to 999.

"They're gone... They're all gone, sh- she killed them..."

"I need you to stay calm, alright? Now, what's your name, and tell me exactly what happened."

"M- my name is Jim Moriarty. My... my mum just killed my family and my friend. And I... and I killed her..." To anyone who didn't know better, they would be unaware that as he said this last sentence, those were not sobs which hindered his voice.

He was laughing.

* * *

**Aaaand, that's the murder I warned you about.**

**Also, if you're in the Merlin and/or Doctor Who fandoms, maybe you caught the little references I threw in there~**

**OH and now's a good time for a little story! So I was inspired to write this after hearing the song "Slipping" from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. _Now, I should point out that at the time, this was the ONLY thing I knew about it. (If you haven't seen it yet and want to avoid spoilers, stop here.) Well, as I'm writing this, it is May 13, 2013, and I have just watched it for the first time. And I have just discovered that I accidentally based this off of the whole film.**

**I'm going to go curl up and die now.**


	6. Chapter 6: I Stopped Him Laughing

He hadn't spoken since that day.

The foster family he'd been assigned to was kind, perhaps a bit too kind for his liking. They never left him alone, always watching to make sure that he was alright, that he wouldn't try to harm himself.

Jim no longer wore his hair messy, or his clothes casual. He dressed formally now, as if in constant respect.

On his first day back to school, he was walking with his head down, ignoring the whispers which filled the halls. Ignoring the looks he got, more than usual. Ignoring just how different he felt.

He'd changed. Changed so much since having seen all of that. He'd lost everything in less than an hour. His family, his only friend, the only one he ever had feelings for. That had hurt him. Emotionally, and mentally. His expression was now constantly blank, showing nothing. Not showing his fear, his distress, his outright anger. To anyone who didn't know better, he would look as if it didn't bother him. As if he were coping just fine.

He barely flinched as he was pushed up against the wall. He didn't fight back, didn't try to get away. He just kept his eyes locked onto Carl's. "You son of bitch!" He was nearly screaming, right in Jim's face. "Penny is dead because of you! If you hadn't interfered, she'd still be here!" There were tears streaming down Carl's face. Real tears. "Why the hell don't you say something, you worthless piece of shit?!" He slammed Jim's head into the wall again. "What's the matter? You upset? After watching your mummy rip out the throats of anyone who ever gave a shit about you? I bet you liked killing her. Feeling the knife get stuck in her chest, the slicing her windpipe. You're her. You're the same."

Without even realising how it happened, Carl was on the ground. Sitting on top of him, Jim repeatedly threw his fists against the younger boy's jaw. He did not make threats, did not spout insults. He just fought. He let everything out without using words. And when he saw the Headmaster running toward him, Jim simply stood up and took a few steps back, keeping that stony expression.

"You got lucky." Jim was seated in the Headmaster's office, eyes never leaving the ground. "You could've caused some serious damage." The boy's eyes remained locked onto the floor. "Under any other circumstances, you'd be in a lot of trouble. But I understand what made you react how you did." He gave Jim a look; one of pity, of sympathy. "Just don't let it happen again." Jim nodded.

He would make sure of it.

Funny how easy it was to get past the security systems. Perhaps it was because the man who would later acquire a minor position in the British government was still only fifteen, yet to rise to power. Or perhaps Jim was just that clever. He knew that breaking into such a covert facility be incredibly dangerous. The guards, they shot first, asked questions later. But frankly, he would be fine with that. Either he succeeded, or he died. Either was good for him.

Getting the botulism was simple. But now, now he'd have to be careful. He had to wait a while. A few months or so. After all, he couldn't have anyone suspecting anything. He had to appear innocent. No possible motive. Carl didn't speak to him anymore. The threats and mocking came from other sources, but Carl did nothing but glare. Little did he know that his silence only helped seal his fate.

The day came. It was surprisingly nice out, sun easily overwhelming the clouds. The swim team was going to be off to London in a few hours. They were practicing now. It was perfect timing.

Jim was able to get into the changing room from the small window by the ceiling. Natural agility, together with careful planning allowed him to clamber through the space with ease, having left his shoes outside to avoid the sound of his feet hitting the ground.

Reaching into his bag, he removed the syringe, pulled off the safety cover on the needle. He made his way over to Carl's locker, finding that he had left it unlocked. A bit disappointing. He'd spent a decent amount of time learning how to open padlocks exclusively for this moment. As he found what he was looking for, Jim spoke for the first time in months.

"You're lucky, to be honest." His voice was rough from not having been used. "I'm going to be civil about this. I'll make it quick and easy. I could do so much worse. After all, you've caused me quite a bit of trouble. But that's done now, nothing you can do about the past." He paused for a moment. "I do regret Penny. She loved you. I don't know why, but she loved you. You think I didn't notice? The bruises on her arm from being gripped too tightly. Too small for an adult. Could have been from something else, but not likely. I'd know those marks anywhere. But like I said, the past is done. And she loved you. That's why I'm glad she's not here to see this." Unscrewing the cap to the eczema medication, Jim now kept his volume down even further as he inserted the syringe, allowing the chemical to mix in. "So long, Carl Powers."

Footsteps. The sound of boys yelling, laughing, talking about who knows what. He didn't have time to climb back through the window. Throwing the tainted medication back into its place, Jim closed the locker silently and managed to squeeze into an unused one. Hidden from view, he kept his breaths quiet, body completely still. And that was when he realised.

The shoes.

They would have traces of botulism on them. He hadn't thought this part through, hadn't planned this far ahead. It took everything he had not to swear at himself for having been so careless.

When he was finally alone once again, he forced himself out of his cramped seclusion, only to stand there for a minute or two. There was only one option.

He was going to London.

His foster parents thought he was going to the cemetery, that he'd finally healed enough to visit the graves. Having scavenged enough to get the bus, he timed it perfectly, so that he would arrive just as everyone was coming in.

He made sure to stay in the back, where he would not be recognised, or really even noticed. It wouldn't be long now. Carl was loving it. Loving the spotlight once more. And he'd be getting more attention soon. Very soon.

Carl dove into the water, swam to the other end of the pool, began making his way back. And just as he was about to finish his lap, it happened. He froze for a moment, sinking as the poison took hold of his body. Jim only was able to cherish the look of panic on his face for a moment. Chaos erupted. People ran to the side of the pool, paying no attention to anything but the boy. This was his chance. Slipping into the changing room, he knew that he didn't have much time. When he found Carl's lock, he was a bit frustrated to find that he'd shut it now, clearly not trusting people in this near foreign city. It took him longer than he'd wanted to open it, half listening to the shouts from outside. The shoes were right on top.

Shoving them into his bag, his hands were shaking. But why? He'd been completely content with the idea only hours before, maybe less. So then why was he so afraid? Perhaps it was because he'd seen it happen, seen what he'd done. And when he exited the room, he knew what would be waiting for him.

After closing the lock, adjusting the dial so that it was in the exact position he'd found it in, Jim carefully made his way back into the crowd.

Carl was laying on the ground, eyes closed, unmoving. Not breathing, never again. Some man who claimed to be a doctor was doing everything he could to resuscitate him. But it was too late. A couple- presumably Carl's parents- were standing by, his father holding back the sobbing, screaming woman who was trying to get to her son. Jim couldn't watch it. He slipped out of the building without being seen.

He put on the blank expression as soon as he got home. Well, it wasn't really "home", though, was it? Either way, he went straight to the room he shared with two other boys, which, to his relief, was empty at the moment. After shoving the trainers under his bed- what else was he supposed to do with them?- he sat down, rubbing his hands over his face, almost as if to wipe away what he'd seen.

He'd killed someone today. Because of him, a boy was dead. It was... conflicting, to be honest. In a way, he was horrified. After all, was he not now just like his mother, the woman who had torn his life to shreds before his very eyes? But then again, there was something else. This feeling of superiority, the knowledge that he could take the precious gift of life from an individual if he so chose, it was invigorating. The adrenalin, the thrill, the outright _power_. The whole thing was like a drug. Terrible, inevitably going to kill him in the end, but so difficult to pass up the option to do it again.

He thought that, now that Carl was gone, people would come to accept him more. They wouldn't have their ringleader spreading rumours, urging them to knock him around in the halls. And this was partially the result. No one laughed at him anymore, or found enjoyment in his physical torment. No one spoke to him at all. Even after all he'd gone through, he was still alone. And Jim could see in their eyes that they were afraid. Afraid of him. Little Jim, who was always pushed around. But not anymore. Perhaps they suspected something. Perhaps they knew. But if they did, they kept it to themselves. After all, there was no evidence. They'd ruled it as a freak accident. No one would ever find out.

Little did he know that the very next day, a little boy of only eight years old would be running around, searching for answers.

Jim found a sort of loophole, a way to avoid the guilt which had plagued him for months after what he called in his mind The Carl Powers Incident, while still getting the rush of going against the law. His first client came when he was sixteen. There was no exchange of money at this time, he had to get his name out there. Never the full thing, just Moriarty. That was what he called himself now, what he would come to be known as in the darkest corners of London, maybe even beyond. His first client was a man who'd had enough of the factory he worked in, had enough of his boss, whom he had found out was sleeping with his wife. He planned to burn the place to the ground. Jim was able to find out, offered to help disable any security cameras or anything else that could potentially get him caught. He'd been reluctant at first, of course, to trust the young Irish boy in the suit, the one with that menacing gleam in his eye. But for whatever reason, he did. There was one condition. The man was informed that he had to use spray paint on the walls to write out seven names on the walls before he started the blaze in a specific order, though he refused to explain why they were significant. Keith. Daniel. Grace. James. Richard. Penny. Lillian. And Jim.

The ones who died to make him into this.


	7. Epilogue: Wrong Day To Die

Years later. The name Moriarty had made its way around the globe, though only where it was needed. Staying just out of sight of those who would bring him down. All but one.

He stood face to face with the man, the soon to be legend, Sherlock Holmes. It was in this place where Carl had breathed his last. Yes, Carl Powers had died here, and he'd brought Jim with him. But as Jim died, Moriarty was born.

He was able to keep himself together rather well, to be honest. But the memories haunted him as he looked around. So he kept his eyes locked onto Sherlock, doing his best not to avert his gaze. It helped make him look threatening.

It was a talent of his, he'd found, that he could not only seem dangerous, but also innocent at the same time. "I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT." Richard had wanted to be an IT worker. "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died."

He dropped the near giddy facade. "That's what people _do_!" His father. His brother. His aunt. His uncle. His cousin. His first love.

Nothing seemed to be working. Sherlock seemed so content, so confident. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?" Moriarty was able to keep his tone both calm and menacing.

"Oh let me guess, I get killed." A retaliation of the same nature.

"Kill you?" He gritted his teeth a bit, almost considering "No, don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway, someday." Just not by his own hand. Never again. "I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special." Oh, yes, something special, indeed. "No no no no no. If you don't stop prying..." Here it came. "I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you." His voice faltered at the end of this sentence, and he found it difficult to keep himself together as he repeated the words he'd been told so long ago.

Sherlock's expression didn't change. "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true." Because he'd wanted to believe the same thing about himself. He'd tried and tried to convince himself that he was empty, but it never worked. He was always still hurting somewhere inside him.

The confrontation didn't last much longer, and when he got to the hotel he was currently staying at- under the name Richard Brook- he sat on the bed with his head in his hands after making a few "business" calls. He couldn't help but think about the gun in his small suitcase. He wanted nothing more than to take it out, to feel the cold metal inside his mouth, finger pulling the trigger back.

No. No, he couldn't think like that. Not yet. He still had loose ends to tie up. But once that was finished, he would play one last game with Sherlock Holmes. One last puzzle. He'd said it himself. He was waiting to kill Sherlock, saving it for something special. And what was that special something?

The day he himself ended his torment.

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**Hope you all enjoyed it~!**

**Or cried because of it. That works, too.**


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